


Divine Intervention

by grandfatherclock



Series: Edubation [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Community: widojest love, F/M, Implied/Referenced Past Sexual Abuse, Safeword Use, ask to tag, discussion of consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 00:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20805560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock
Summary: He's been getting so much better now in the Dynasty, after all, wearing nicer and more form-fitting clothes—the purple of his coat is striking against the paleness of his skin, Jester's cheeks becoming darker as she thinks of how delicate the skin of his neck seems against the heavy colours—and everything else is socomplicated, sobroken. She thinks of Yasha and it makes her shoulders tense, makes her breath shuddering. Her eyes were so empty when she summoned back Obann... and if Caleb doesn't want to talk about what haunts him in the Empire, if he only wants to talk to her about donuts and her mother's safety and ending this war and looking at her with an assuring smile, sayingJester's plan is a good one, who is she to judge? Who is she to feel bitter and annoyed and anxious? It isn't like shedoesn'tplay this game. Sheisn'tupset, she's just glad he's here and okay.Jester Lavorre is areallygood liar.





	Divine Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> AHHH! This is for the Widojest Collab Week! I'm doing a series, and the actual collaboration between my artist partner, [@oathbreaker14](https://oathbreaker14.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, and I will be in a later fic.
> 
> Thank you to do [@dorcasdeadowes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorcasdeadowes/pseuds/dorcasdeadowes) for beta'ing!
> 
> This work references consent and the usage of safe words, as well as past sexual abuse. If you believe that additional tags are required, please do not hesitate to ask for them in the comments!

Jester doesn't know what caused Caleb to snap up like that.

Well, that isn't strictly true. Jester has never been one for the sciences, preferred the worlds in her drawings and the rambling stories she created inside her own head, but she simply adored the scientific method, enjoyed the leap from hypothesis to conclusion, loved the cause and effect of things. If Jester didn't carefully close the door and avoid the floorboard to the right of the doorway that always creaked so loud, it would _cause_ Blude to grimace and cross his arms when he followed the sound, upset at having found her sneaking out of her room again. If Mama was doing vocal warmups in her room as she allowed Jester to look through her jewelry, it was Jester's _hypothesis_ that Mama had a performance planned, one she wasn't telling Jester about because she didn't want Jester to hide in the lobby to listen in.

Jester is a detective at heart, she thinks all kids who grow up around silence are. And as much as the Traveler was around and made things chaotic, made things fun, told her stories and played dress-up and drew with her, sometimes it was pretty silent. She's pretty silent herself despite her loud voice and bright smile, silent with the way her heart seizes a little when she imagines a _leetel_ blue dragon surrounded by all his fucking gold, silent with how she giggled around Fjord's kiss that he doesn't bring up ever and she doesn't either anymore. Silent with how she thinks _nothing at all, I mean nothing at all._

Caleb is also pretty silent with all the things he doesn't tell her. It's fine, though, it _is_. He hasn't talked to her, and as far as she knows anyone, about that strange Scourger the Kryn have imprisoned in their underground jail. His face was so pale when he forced himself back against the wall, jaw clenched and eyes dark. He hissed in his standoff with Beau at the Dim's Inn that he _murdered the ones dearest to me_. She and Fjord exchanged looks then, his own eyebrow raised but his lips pursed together, firmly closed. _Of course they are,_ she thought bitterly, unfairly. It wasn't like… she _hasn't_ been avoiding that very large elephant in the room. The implications are _frightening_—_who did you kill, Cayleb? Your family?_—and she's… worried bringing it up might make him crawl into himself.

He's been getting so much better now in the Dynasty, after all, wearing nicer and more form-fitting clothes—the purple of his coat is striking against the paleness of his skin, Jester's cheeks becoming darker as she thinks of how delicate the skin of his neck seems against the heavy colours—and everything else is so _complicated_, so _broken_. She thinks of Yasha and it makes her shoulders tense, makes her breath shuddering. Her eyes were so empty when she summoned back Obann... and if Caleb doesn't want to talk about what haunts him in the Empire, if he only wants to talk to her about donuts and her mother's safety and ending this war and looking at her with an assuring smile, saying _Jester's plan is a good one_, who is she to judge? Who is she to feel bitter and annoyed and anxious? It isn't like she _doesn't_ play this game. She _isn't_ upset, she's just glad he's here and okay.

Jester Lavorre is a _really_ good liar.

That all is in the back of her racing mind now, though. Because they're sitting on the couch in the Happy Room. That isn't true either—Caleb is laying on the couch, back against a pillow, more languid than he normally allows himself to be. He's smiling at Jester and she's strewn on top of him, the two of them completely pressed up against each other as they exchange slow kisses, her hand in his hair.

Jester really does think this moment is perfect. It’s well into the afternoon, but it’s pitch dark out, the only light coming in from the windows the muted white from Katha in its full circular glory. The stars twinkle out in pretty clusters, and if Jester weren’t so preoccupied, she might’ve pulled Caleb up so they could lean out through the window, look at the constellations. She could watch how Caleb’s pale skin looks in the moonlight, it was always so radiant when they would camp out on the side of the road. Maybe they could walk out into the garden. Maybe they could intertwine their fingers and dance with their bare feet against the strange shrubbery of Xhorhas. He would smile as she pulled him close, looking at her with dark eyes as she tucked herself into him, head against his shoulder.

But that would require moving, and Jester is _very_ satisfied with where they are right now. Caleb’s hand is on her back, on the cloth of her dress between the two of them. The heat radiating off his touch is perfect against his skin.

_Warm_, Jester thinks dizzily, as her fingers curl on the collar of his shirt, her tongue hesitantly probing into his mouth. As he _sighs_ and allows her better access. _You’re always so warm, Cayleb_.

Her chest fits perfectly against his and she pulls him closer, letting out a muffled sound as he bites her lower lip. He holds it between his teeth for a moment before letting go. Jester _giggles_ and kisses him again, this chaste little thing as one of her hands leave his collar to rest against the nape of his neck. It makes the _Dancing Lights_ flicker for only a moment, and Caleb laughs silently as she smirks proudly to herself. She feels so _secure_ with his hands resting on her back, and she loves his considering eyes searching her face. They glitter too, bright and intelligent, and Jester thinks she would rather gaze at him than all the stars in the Rosohna sky.

“Lavorre,” he says, his voice slightly uneven. Jester grins, adjusting her bare legs to press them against his own and wishing his black trousers were off. The fact that they’re relatively alone in the house doesn’t do anything to quell the fluttering in her chest that comes from kissing him in such a public part of the house. She mouths along his jawline as he pauses, thinking about his words, figuring out what to say next. His fingers tighten into her back as she scrapes her teeth against his pretty skin with her fangs, grinning at the light mark there. Her tail languidly curls along his right leg and he raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up. “I was _wondering_—”

“_Wondering?_” Jester interrupts, batting her eyelashes at him playfully before coming up close, blue lips continuing to trail on his jaw. He adjusts his hips slightly so he can have a more secure hold on her, one hand reaching down to rest on her ass, and Jester grins, leaning back into his touch. Caleb exhales at that, letting out this light laugh, and she tightens her fingers into his hair before pulling him close. Their lips press against each other in a rougher kiss, more heated than their previous ones. She feels his tongue against hers, pushing into her mouth, and she moans, her other hand stumbling over his buttons. She has to be careful not to pop them, Caleb _likes _this shirt...

“_Wondering_ how—far you intend—to take this,” he sighs, words heavy and murmured through their kisses. The tip of her tail runs in light circles against his leg, and Jester tries to keep aware of how tight it is, making sure she doesn’t squeeze _too_ hard. She doesn’t want to cut off circulation from his leg, after all—it was something she had trouble with when she would kiss _Fjord,_ him wincing when she accidentally tightened her tail too much. Jester _really_ had no idea she was so strong until she joined this party, and she kind of likes it, kind of likes having Caleb under her all pretty and soft under her sure grip. She leaves a kiss along his neck, her fingers finally managing to pull open one of the buttons to his white shirt, and she watches his jaw shift. “It isn’t… being a good roommate to… to _fuck_”—_fuck,_ she thinks, beaming, _we’re gonna fuck_—“in a common room.”

“I don’t _know,_ Cayleb,” Jester pouts, biting into his neck. Her hair is falling out from her bun, and she wonders if it matches her freckled blue face as well as Caleb’s beautiful red hair frames his. His sternum is visible, so she leaves a kiss there _too_, worrying the pale skin between her sharp teeth. He groans, and she feels a hand in her hair, all tight and warm and perfect, rough fingers threading through her strands and over her scalp.

“I’m a _pretty_ bad roommate anyway, just ask _Beau_. I _sing_ late at night and make a _mess_ I forget to clean up sometimes.” She sits back as she says that, knees spread open over his legs and dress bunched up, looking down at him. Caleb’s shirt is half-buttoned and rumpled, his hair disheveled and his jaw marked up, and it all makes Jester smirk, fingers reaching out to touch his cheek. His eyes darken as he watches her. “I try to tell her all my messes are _art_, but she doesn’t _understand_.” That bruise on his collarbone is so _pretty_.

He jerks her close, slanting their lips together, and she squeals, smiling against his lips as she feels him hard against her bared thigh. Her dress so bunched up at this point that it’s visible. “_Please_,” he murmurs, hands tightening on her hair and keeping her head still as he scrapes his teeth against her neck, and then continues to bite into the bruise there. Jester _sighs_, and she feels Caleb quirk up his lips against her cool skin. “Do _not_ mention Beauregard as you kiss me.” Jester laughs at his _tone_, her voice all heavy and uneven where it’s usually light, and Caleb shakes his head fondly at her, pulling back the hand on her ass for a moment—Jester _pouts_ a little as he does, and he kisses her, teeth against her jutted out lower lip—to pull up the sleeves of his white shirt.

Exposing his scarred forearms. Jester watches them for a moment, eyes tracing over those surgical marks, until he pulls her back with his hand in her hair, kissing her as he spreads her thighs wider over his legs. A hand rests under her floral dress as he kisses her languidly.

Jester whimpers against his lips. It’s a strange sensation, kissing Caleb. He smells of ink of course, and incense, that’s never changed. There just used to be a slight roughness to her skin against his beard, and it’s not that she prefers it to his smooth chin now. It’s just different. Caleb has spent so long hiding, and Jester wants to know everything that he’s willing to share.

She shifts her hips a little, a hand on his chest _still _trying to undo those buttons as he kisses her. His tongue is rough in her mouth in that way that makes her _melt_ into his arms. She leans closer, and her lips brush the shell of his ear. “_Jealous_,” she accuses, and she feels his fingers on her toned thigh trail up, up, all the way _up_—his fingers are so _warm_ against her smooth skin, she arches her back slightly with her hand on his chest she feels him touch her cunt lightly through her underwear_._

“Maybe,” he mumbles, leaning closer to kiss her neck. His other hand raises to pull down the front of her dress. Jester smiles as he exposes her breasts to the cool air, sighs as she feels her nipple harden as he rubs it between two rough fingers. His blackened fingertips against her soft blue flesh makes her feel _wet_, kind of desperate, and he still hasn’t moved his hand from where it rests against the tight fabric of her undergarments. Jester gives him a pleading look as he leans closer, and he smiles as he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sucking on her nipple gently as a hand reaches out to rest against her cheek. She moans slightly as she feels that wet warmth, her breath all stuttering as his teeth scrape against her. She’s sighing out his name, and his arm is so _close_—

Jester can _see_ those scars. They are pale and delicate against his skin, surgical and running up his forearms. They look so cold, so dispassionate, and she remembers the warmth she felt in her chest when Caleb finally took off those armwraps in those tunnels, those aching days where he would tell them the time and make Frumpkin stand up on his hindlegs to make them laugh. _Two o’clock post meridian, Lavorre_, he murmured, lips pulled into a slight smile and face glowing from his arcane lights. And she _did_ laugh, because Caleb is _funny _when he tries to be. He tries more and more these days.

She doesn’t know what she’s thinking as she grabs the wrist of the hand on her cheek, doesn’t know why she gets this in her head that she wants to kiss his scars. She _does_, though, so she pulls his arm close, and turns her head as he continues to suck her nipple, pulling her dress further down to expose her other breast and pinch that nipple too. She sees a scar and she presses her lips against it, feeling that warmth against her cold lips, and—

Caleb snaps up, pushing her back. Jester lands on her ass, allowing herself to be pushed, and stares at him with wide eyes. His arms are trembling, and his gaze looks glassy, not completely here. He doesn’t say anything, just raises a hand to run it through his hair as he pulls back, and Jester’s tail uncurls around his leg as he pulls his knees closer. His breathing is uneven, but not in that way when she’s fucking him—it’s _quick_, and he’s _blinking, _reaching for his unbuttoned shirt and buttoning it with shaking hands. After a moment, his gaze finally meets hers as she stares at him in silence, her tail nervously flicking around as she pulls up the top of her dress to cover her breasts again. She watches as he forces his hands to still in their twitchy movement.

“Cayleb,” she whispers, pulling her knees close. She’s seen Caleb get this kind of nervous before—usually after a fight with _fire_, where Beau or Nott would sit by him until his breathing stops being shaky and his movement is no longer tense and jerky. His jaw clenches and unclenches, working out what to say, how to explain away his reaction, and she raises her hands defensively, close to her chest so he doesn’t think she’s reaching out to touch him. “_Hey_, I’m _sorry_. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He stills when she says _hurt_, and then his shoulders relax, tilting his head back to her with this languid smile playing on his lips. There’s still a couple buttons loose that he hasn’t buttoned back up, and he’s laying back against the pillow, looking all perfect and alluring and teasing with his half-lidded eyes and his rumpled shirt. “Oh, Lavorre,” he says, and his voice is _fond_. It’s so _weird_ because there is warmth in his voice and the quirk of his lips is so smooth like he genuinely _is_ relaxed, _is_ alright, but there’s something _off_ in how he gently reaches for her arm, intertwining his fingers in hers and coaxing her closer. “You didn’t hurt me.” He sounds so _certain_, so _sure_… 

Jester pulls her hand back and laughs nervously, running it through her hair and getting up. “_Oh_, well.” She bites her lower lip and shrugs, getting up off the couch and pulling down her dress back to her knees. It’s pretty and yellow, decorated with sunflowers, and if she focuses on that enough, she doesn’t have to watch as Caleb’s face falls, doesn’t have to wince as his hands are too still as he crosses his arms and watches her. “I… you _know, _if something doesn’t _feel _right, you should just… you _can _tell me, you _know?_” She bites the inside of her cheek nervously, her hands in such _tight_ fists that she can feel her nails digging into the palms of her hands. She doesn’t know _why_ she did that, she _knew _Caleb was twitchy with his arms...

_You did,_ she thinks, as she begins to awkwardly turn and walk away. _You know he’s… you know he’s _broken_ there, and you wanted to _kiss_ it better, how could you be so stupid?_ She’s blinking quickly, and she realizes that those are tears she’s blinking back. _Merde_, why is she so helpless in all this? All she wanted was to have a fun night while the others were away, shopping for their next mission to follow the whereabouts of the Laughing Hand—_Yasha_, she thinks, her heart seizing, _why are you being so frivolous when Yasha is still missing?_—and she’s _here_, stepping on Caleb’s toes.

“Blueberry,” Caleb murmurs, when she’s nearly outside the room. She doesn’t look back, because she doesn’t want Caleb to see the bitter way that her lips are twisting, how her hands are trembling as she clasps them together in front of her chest, trying desperately for a convincing smile. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Jester hears movement, perhaps him sitting up on the couch, and she clenches her jaw, her breathing all fluttering. _Get it together_, she thinks miserably. _Won’t you get it together?_ “I’m really okay,” he lies, as easily to breathing. 

Jester exhales through her teeth. “... Didn’t mean to upset you _either_, Cayleb,” she says simply—_didn’t mean to hurt you, didn’t mean to trigger you, didn’t mean to make your eyes go all blank like that_—and closes the door behind her as she skips down the hall. Her footfalls are light—_frantic_, the Traveler whispers in her ear, _no need to be frantic_—and she _slams_ the door shut behind her when she reaches her room, slumping there with her back against it before jumping onto her bed.

The pillows are _soft_ against her face, and the Traveler hums under his breath as an ethereal hand curls through her hair, straightening it out where Caleb was dishevelling it. She’s _shaking_, and he’s murmuring words under his breath like _there, there_ and _cry it out, it’s alright_ as she raises her head and wipes her face. “This isn’t _about_ me,” she nearly snaps at him, and the Traveler’s gentle smile curves into a slight frown. His verdant cape pools around him where he sits next to her on the bed, all rich and smooth, and his pale hand curves around her cheek as she stares at him, blinking and trembling. “_Why _am I so _upset_, I don’t—I’m just”—she lets out this choked, embarrassed laugh as she looks up at him—“I’m just sorry. I’m… I’m sorry I’m snapping at you, I’m just…”

“You’re _angry_,” the Traveler finishes for her, and he sighs, reaching down to kiss her forehead. She flutters her eyes shut as she feels his warm lips against her, and he pushes her hair off her forehead. “It’s _okay_, Jester.” She looks up at him, her face twisting as she tries to pull herself together, and he shifts his jaw, reaching out and rubbing the nape of his neck with his other hand. “Well, I mean to say that things clearly _aren’t_ okay. But they haven’t been _okay_ in a while, and at least… now you both can see it.”

Jester sits up, rubbing her face with the back of her hand, and he reaches out, untangling a strand of her hair where it got stuck to the chain attached from one end on her ear to the other on her accompanying horn. “I just…” Jester exhales, biting her lower lip. She wants to talk to her mother desperately, she would know what to do, what to make of all this. Talking to her always tends to clear Jester’s head out, but she doesn’t know that she can describe the way Caleb shifted into this… strange imitation of his earlier self in twenty-five words. She doesn’t _want_ to, she wants to explain and vent and bury herself in her mother’s arms, because she _doesn’t know what to do, Mama, I really don’t._ “I don’t _know_,” she mumbles, and looks up to her best friend, tilting her head and crossing her arms. “Did you need me for something?” She sounds so hopeful, and her knees are trembling from anticipation. _Please need me, let there be _something _I didn’t mess up, please, Traveler_—

“I’m here because of _you_,” he says, looking at her like he knows exactly what she’s thinking. Of course he does, he was the only one who kept her company those dragging hours in the summers at the Lavish Chateau, the sunlight streaming in through the curtained windows as they played tag in her room, climbing onto the bed and the couch and the closet and the cabinets as they chased each other. “Jester, you look like you need some divine intervention.” As he says that he smiles, and Jester feels the curtains in her room begin to move as wind seems to stream around the two of them sitting on her bed. Jester blinks, and she grabs onto the Traveler’s hand as she watches Beau’s pillow rise up along with some of Jester’s brushes on her desk and swivel in circles around the two of them. “Do you trust me?” His eyes are covered but Jester is sure they are glittering in tandem with that smile playing on his face.

“_Ja,_” she says, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder with her other arm. She smiles despite herself, despite the unevenness still on her chest. He’s being so _coy_, she loves when the Traveler is like this. She folds into his chest as he wraps his arms around her—_firm chest_, she thinks, and the Traveler barks out this light laugh like he can sense her thoughts, feel her impish smile against his shoulder, _I worship an _attractive_ god_—and closes her eyes, feeling the wind pick up, and up, and _up. _Her hair is whipping on her face, slapping her cheeks, and she grimaces_, _holding onto the Traveler’s waist tighter—

* * *

She feels heat, coiling and present and familiar_, _and opens her eyes, wondering why she feels like the Nicodrani sun has extended its wrath on her yet again, and—_ah_.

Jester _shrieks_ as she runs to her mother, sitting there with wide eyes. “_Mama_,” she nearly shouts in the bright joy that dances around in her chest, wincing a little at how loud it comes out in her Nicodrani-accented voice. Her mother doesn’t say anything to that, just shakes her head in disbelief and makes a noise of excitement as she reaches out from where she’s sitting on her bed, wrapping her arms around Jester as Jester crawls up onto her bed, into her lap. “Oh, _Mama,_ I have _so much _to tell you.”

“I want to hear _all_ of it,” Marion promises her, reaching out to touch her cheek like the Traveler—_like Cayleb_, she thinks, her beaming smile faltering a little as she remembers the situation she left in the Happy Room—and keeping her palm smooth against Jester’s face. “You were floating like an angel by yourself just now, did you know?” She sounds a little in awe, and Jester flushes, looking down and playing with a loose thread in her dress. “Tell me _everything_, my little sapphire. I want to know.”

Jester leans her head against her mother’s shoulders and recounts old exploits, allowing herself to get lost in the haze of being here, of being lost in all this_._ She can spy her mother’s jewelry box there with the large mirror, can see her mother’s desk full of documents neatly organized into piles. The sunlight leaves everything in this soft glow, her mother’s red skin looking smooth and perfect in the hue from the pretty lantern light. Her curly red hair perfectly frames her face, her dark makeup making her golden eyes look wonderful and mysterious and _interesting_, and the simple black robes she currently wears perfectly hug the curves of her body. Jester tries not to feel too girlish in her simple florals and messy bun at the back of her head, tries to soak in her mother’s genuine joy and interest in hearing all about her adventures. Occasionally her voice lilts, trailing off into silence until she remembers to keep talking, and finally Marion clears her throat, making Jester look at her with questioning eyes.

“Jester,” she says softly, and there’s something raw in that one word, that one name Jester chose for herself. _To make people happy_, she said, dancing in a circle in her pretty dress as she told her mother what she picked as her virtue name, Marion and Blude exchanging a fond smile as Jester fiddled with the pink ribbon on her left horn. Jester fights the urge to blink back that wetness that never quite left. “You… you look _sad_, my sapphire.” That thumb on her cheek reaches out, and Jester realizes it’s brushing back a tear. “Will you tell me about that?” Jester exhales through her teeth and her mother tilts her head, golden eyes watching her every move. “Will you tell me about _you_?”

“Mama, I don’t…” Jester fumbles for a way to explain this entire mess and her jaw clenches, hands bunching up in her dress. The pattern of the sunflowers looks all crumpled, and Jester thinks about how much _easier _it was when there were other people to take care of her clothes that way, other people to make sure things didn’t get wrinkled. “I don’t know what to _do,_” she whispers, her shoulders trembling slightly. “He’s… and I don’t—” She cuts herself, trying to think of the right string of words to make sense of this situation.

“I’m not a detective like you,” Marion says, and her voice is so kind, her eyes so warm. They look bright and glittering in the light, vibrant and knowing. “I think I can maybe _guess_, but Jester… when it comes to important things, we can’t _guess_, okay? We can’t… make hypotheses when it comes to… things that _hurt_. You need to tell me, oui?” She leans close, her curly hair falling to the front of her right shoulder as she kisses Jester’s cheek, pulling back to meet her gaze. Jester exhales, her breath all stuttering and hesitant, and her mother’s smile is so gentle on her, so forgiving of her probably clearly tear-stained eyes, of her stuttering breath. Jester wonders dizzily why it couldn’t have always been this way, why it’s only this way _now_. She could’ve used this _before, Mama, I needed this before._ “Tell me what hurts, my angel.”

Jester laughs a little helplessly, curling her legs in closer so she’s more in her mother’s lap. Her thoughts are ripping at her, and she rests her head against her mother’s shoulder, grateful now that she’s so small. She’s glad to be small enough to fit inside her mother’s lap, still. “I’m not very _good_ at that,” she confesses, her throat a little dry. She runs a hand over her face and gives Marion a sheepish smile. _I don’t have too much practice_, she thinks wearily, shifting her jaw. Her hands are tight into fists, and she sighs. _I’m not so… not so practiced in that._

“My fault,” Marion sighs, and when Jester opens her mouth to argue, because that isn’t fair and life is difficult, she just gives Jester a pointed look, a raised eyebrow that kills the sound in Jester’s throat. “It’s my _fault_, I suppose a… a child’s room is no place to prepare a little girl for how to handle _hurt_, how to… how to…” She clenches her own jaw, seeming so small, but when she catches Jester looking at her with her forehead creased and her eyebrows furrowed worriedly, she just smiles and shakes her head, her hair loosening from its coif to be more open around her beautiful face. “_Please_, Jester.” Her voice is gentle, her face soft. It makes Jester all kinds of sad, looking at it, and she exhales through her teeth, trying to be okay with it all, trying to be okay with _this. “_Tell me what happened.”

Jester clenches her jaw, and then forces herself to unclench it, forces her shoulders to untense, forces her breathing more even. _You wanted help_, she thinks, and she remembers Caleb’s flat eyes as she got up, remembers his too still hands. _You wanted help and he wanted you to think he didn’t need help_. Her mother’s head is tilted as she tells her mother about Caleb, about how they occasionally kiss sometimes. Her eyebrows raised and her expression became teasing as Jester talked about how they _fucked_—_he’s really good, Mama, _Jester sighs, and Marion shakes her head as she grins, saying, _I believe you, Jester_—and her forehead creased as Jester finally talks about how he pushed when Jester kissed his arms. “And his face became all _blank_,” she says, crossing her arms. “And he said he was… he was _fine_, and I don’t know why he _lied_.” Her voice drops off at _lied_, sounding tired and exhausted and unlike her—or maybe it _is_ like her, which is… which is terrifying and something she doesn’t want to at all contemplate.

“Lied…” Marion’s head is tilted, and she looks to Jester with a serious expression, the light smile previously on her lips disappearing. “Jester, did you ever discuss safe words with him?” 

Jester nods immediately, remembering Caleb looking confused but also seeming agreeable when she told him about the colours the Lavish Chateau encouraged sex workers to use, finishing with _… and red if you wanna stop, okay?_ Her smile was encouraging, and he seemed so experienced as he separated her thighs, his lips parting as his tongue ran through her folds, making her back arch and a moan escape through her lips. She figured the way his eyebrows were furrowed were out of embarrassment, feeling talked down by her, younger and less experienced than him, telling him about something so elementary… oh _no_. Jester stares at her mother with horror, thinking, _No-no-no-no-no_, and Marion winces, her own shoulders slumping. “Jester, I don’t think it was _you _he was lying to.”

“Oh, _fuck_,” Jester says, nearly jumping out of her mother’s arms. She pauses for a second and reaches back, kissing her mother’s forehead, and Marion’s arms tighten around her for just a moment before she lets go, a small smile playing on her lips.

_Sometimes I wish I could be here forever_, Jester thinks sadly, watching Marion’s eyes, _and sometimes I would rather die_.  “Oh, Mama, I want to talk _forever_ and _ever_, but…” She thinks of Caleb sitting there alone in the Happy Room. He would’ve completely buttoned his shirt by now, maybe opened a book and started to read. Her heart sinks as she imagines what kind of anxiety he must be under, wonders if perhaps he’s begun scratching at his arms without prying eyes to watch or judge. _I won’t judge_, she thinks miserably, giving her mother a weak smile. _If you trusted me to sit with you, I won’t watch._

“I know,” Marion says gently. “It seems like you and this Cayleb”—_Cayleb_, Jester thinks numbly, _Mama says it how I say it, his eyes look so bright when I say it_—“have a lot to talk about. Be… be gentle, Jester, he probably feels _awful_.” She smiles at Jester, uncrossing her legs. Jester watches the black fabric of her robes follow the movement, pretty and beautiful and _expensive, 50 gold was my daily allowance, Cayleb._ All she can think about is him right now, him sitting there alone, and she looks to her mother, tormented. “And be gentle with yourself, too. Please?” Jester averts her gaze and Marion waits until she looks back to her. “Promise to _try_.” Her mother’s voice is intent, her gaze searching on Jester’s brittle face.

“… I promise to _try_,” Jester whispers, still feeling so wrong for feeling so bad for herself in all this. It isn’t like she’s the… she’s the one who just had a panic attack, and the way he just completely disregarded it… he lives in _silence_, and that’s _terrifying_. 

She gives her mother a weak smile and pushes off the bed, standing there and waving to her as she prays to the Traveler, gripping her holy symbol with her other hand. _Take me home_, she thinks, jaw clenched. Her fingers are so tight on the painted wood that the corner of the symbol juts into the flesh of her palm. She ignores it, closing her eyes. She feels warmth around her, divine and soft and comfortable like a cloak—_not scorching like Cayleb_, she thinks, _doesn’t sear like him when he kisses me_—and hears the Traveler whisper, “Good girl,” as his arms curve around her waist.

“Merci,” she mumbles, and smiles as she feels the Traveler press a kiss on the top of her forehead. It feels _nice_ to know he still likes her after she snapped at him, still thinks she’s good, still wants her around and finds her _worthy, you find me worthy_—she will paint _so _many dicks for him after this, she swears. His lips quirk up at her scrunched up nose and intent expression, and Jester leans even closer into him. There’s that whooshing feeling as she feels her hair slap against her freckled cheeks, and she scrunches her nose as the ground disappears under feet, arms firm and protective around her as they’re weightless—

* * *

_Take me to Cayleb_, she thinks, or maybe says. She’s unsure in this state, she’s less a person than a fluttering collection of sensations. It still feels like she has a heart though, one that thuds loud and uneven as she tries to think of what she’ll tell him. All she knows is that he can’t be alone with his hands in fists beside him, knuckles whitened from how _tense_ he is. He can’t be alone in all this, alone with the thoughts in his head, he’s been alone for so _long_—_you’ve been alone for so long, _Jester thinks, remembering trying on dresses in the mirror alone as she waited for her mother to be free—and loneliness… warps a person. Loneliness is _hell_, and she knows what Caleb’s face reminded her of as he stared blankly in that frightening moment. It looked like he was in hell. _He probably feels awful_, Marion said, and Jester wants to bark out a bitter laugh. _Oh, Mama. His heart is probably a leetel broken, and I’m a leetel part of that._

Jester opens her eyes, and finds herself standing in the Happy Room. The moonlight still streams in from the windows but the arcane lanterns are lit up along the walls now where previously it was just Caleb’s _Dancing Lights_ around them, illuminating the two of them as they exchanged languid kisses on the couch. Everything was so warm in those half-seconds, so assured and certain as he thumbed her nipple, as he marked her neck and jaw. Her chest feels all tense, all strained, and she shifts her jaw, hands tight into fists. Jester forces her gaze to rip away from the walls and to the couch, half-expecting him to be somewhere else, maybe his room or Nott’s laboratory or anywhere beyond where Jester must’ve scared him so much, but there, on the couch—

“_Lavorre,_” Caleb says, and he looks genuinely relieved to see her. He’s still sitting there on the couch, but his position is much straighter, his back tense as he looks up from his spellbook sprawled on his lap. His pale blue eyes are so _bright_ from where they were distant before, and Jester feels her shoulders tense in her own relief. His hair is neater now from where she disheveled it earlier, like he ran it through his own fingers a couple times to fix it up. His jaw shifts, and he looks present, looks alert_. Looks okay_, she thinks numbly as she runs a hand through her hair. It’s a _mess_, and it’s easier to think about this much easier problem than the situation between them. A problem that requires a comb rather than one that involves breaking this tense and brittle silence. “You’re _back_.” He closes his spellbook, and Jester watches him set it down on the table beside the couch. “And _floating…_” He furrows his eyebrows, but then grimaces, rushing to continue his sentence. “I… we should talk about what happened earlier, I’m so _sorry_.” He looks like he genuinely _is_, and that makes Jester’s heart twist. “I _am_, Jester.”

“_Cayleb_.” Jester walks forward to him and watches his face for any signs of discomfort. He gazes at her careful footfalls, an eyebrow raised as he stares at her uncharacteristically tense expression, and she pauses two feet away from him, looking at the way his lips quirk up at her scrunched nose. Two hours earlier he seemed like such a _shell, _Jester left him feeling like such a _shell_. It breaks her heart that he pieced himself all together by himself, it breaks her heart that he must be so _used _to it. Jester thinks of the countless hours of her childhood spent muffling her choked sobs in her pillow and furiously scrubbing her face in the sink afterwards, checking the mirror and hiding signs of crying before anyone else could see. She thinks Caleb must’ve also grown up around silence, he’s so good at being quiet, at hiding whatever must pass for his sobs. Jester doesn’t think she’s ever heard him cry, and that’s… tragic. It’s tragic and it seizes her heart. “Can I sit beside you?”

He looks confused by her question, but nods. When Jester widens her eyes and gives him an intent look as she waits for a verbal response, he looks even _more_ confused, crossing his arms pointing to the spot next to him by his jutted out chin. “Of _course,_ Lavorre.” He tilts his head at her concerned expression as she sits gingerly beside him, careful to keep her hands on her lap and not touch him. “... Are you feeling alright?” He sounds genuinely concerned, biting his lower lip as he watches her. “Did the… what was that _floating_ about, did the Traveler teach you _Levitate?_” Jester smiles sadly at how deflects, his fingers playing with the sleeve of his shirt—_covering his arms_, Jester realizes, biting the inside of her cheek—as his eyes glitter. They always _do_ when he’s talking about _magic_. “And you just _materialized._”

“Divine intervention,” Jester explains, her heart feeling all warm and full as she thinks about how the Traveler just _knew_ what she needed to hear. He interrupted the solitude in her childhood, gifting her paintbrushes and sitting beside her as she painted his cloak, grinning and swishing the fabric as he looked to the drawing. He interrupted the quiet earlier, carding his hands through her hair as she hid her face in the pillow. “I needed the Traveler’s help, and he managed to do what I needed.” Caleb looks so curious, he’s always so much more open than the others with the Traveler—she could _really_ do without Caduceus’ airy judgement, without Fjord’s raised an eyebrow as he asked if the Traveler asked her to do _evil _things, because _really, _her god is so much more than some writhing serpent in the sea, _Fjord_. She really does think maybe one day Caleb could see how _cool_ the Traveler is, maybe pray to him now and then, but that’s for later, right now he’s deflecting_._ “Caleb, remember the _colours?_”

Caleb blinks at her, and then exhales through his teeth, his arms seeming to tighten on his chest. “Colours,” he repeats, and the recognition in his voice and the way his jaw shifts assures Jester he very much does remember that conversation they had. “... I never forget _anything_, Lavorre. I assure you I was paying attention when you were… telling me about them.” Jester smiles at him encouragingly, and his own lips quirk up, mirroring her expression. “Green to go ahead. Yellow to pause, to discuss.” He flushes a little at Jester’s intent gaze, biting his lower lip. “Ja, I _remember_ the colours, Jester.”

“Red to _stop_,” Jester continues. Caleb nods, averting his gaze and looking down at the floorboards on the ground. Jester waits for him to look back at her, and widens her smile. _Did anyone ever tell you that you could stop? _she thinks, keeping that horror out of her expression. _Did anyone tell you that you could stop whenever you wanted, whenever something didn’t feel right?_ This is all terrifying, and she keeps her face gentle, keeps it open_, _doesn’t allow her brittleness to make this conversation tense, confrontational. “Red is for _stop_, Cayleb.”

“I remember,” he promises. “I don’t disregard what you tell me, Lavorre.” He meets her gaze to say that, jaw clenched like it’s important to him that she believes that. Jester nods, tilting her head as she considers him, considers his stance, and Caleb’s shoulders slump, relief playing out in his face in how he blinks, how his lips quirk up as he gives her a smile back. “Just because I… I don’t tend to use these colours doesn’t mean I’ve disregarded what you’ve told me, I promise.” He shrugs, his arms uncrossing so he can run a hand through his hair. He lets out this hesitant laugh, tilting his head to give her a sidelong look. After a moment, he reaches out, and Jester watches as he intertwines their fingers. His burnt, calloused fingers look heavenly against her freckled blue ones.

“The colours are _important, _Cayleb.” Jester tightens her hold on him. Caleb watches her, and she keeps that gentle smile on her face. The last thing she wants is for him to think she’s angry at him—no, she’s just angry in general. She’s just angry at the world. She’s a little angry at herself for not noticing earlier, but not _him_. “If I do something you don’t like, you have to say red, okay?” She runs her thumb in light circles on the inside of his palm, watching his face. His eyebrows are raised, his shoulders tense, and Jester sighs, raising her other hand to rub the nape of her neck. “Can I kiss your hand?” Caleb tilts his face at the question, but simply nods. Jester bites her bottom lip at his nonverbal response, at the way he’s so curled in to himself. “Can I have a colour, please?”

“_Jester_,” Caleb says. He sounds a little small despite himself, and he winces, his jaw shifting. “I’m not a _child_.” He stares at their intertwined hands. “If this is about earlier, I’m sorry_. _I didn’t mean to scare you.” He sounds so disgusted with himself, and _oh_, that won’t do at all. Jester carefully comes closer, bumping her shoulder against his. A smile twists on his lips and he exhales, his shoulder slumping so it rests against hers. She can feel his warmth through his shirt on her bare arm, and she missed him, missed this closeness. It’s been two hours, and she _missed_ him, hated the way she left him.

“I was scared because _you_ were scared,” Jester whispers into the still air. He stares at her evenly, and Jester gives him a little wink, not knowing how else to break this tension. It _works_—Caleb laughs, his lips quirking up for a moment, and Jester grins. He looks good when he’s smiling, looks good when he doesn’t look terrified and tense and two seconds from bolting. “I don’t want that to happen again, you know?” Caleb blinks, and then blinks again, and Jester runs a hand over his knuckles from where their hands are still holding each other. He looks like he wants to ask why she _cares_ so much, but he doesn’t, and Jester thinks it’s because his deeply clever mind already knows the answer, even if he struggles with believing it. “I don’t… _please,_ Cayleb. Trust me, okay? The colours are _so _important, _everyone_ in the Chateau uses them. And they aren’t _children_, you know?”

Caleb clenches his jaw, and Jester watches how he searches his face. His shoulders are squared defensively, and Jester knows what he’s looking for—signs she’s making fun of him, signs she’s being indulgent, signs of _pity. _She keeps her expression open, keeps her eyes wide and bright, and after a painful moment, his shoulders finally slump, his exhales as he runs a hand over his face sharp. “I… I trust you, Lavorre. I _do_. I’ll… I’ll figure out all this”—he gestures to her and him, eyes flitting down to look at their intertwined fingers—“and I’ll…” His voice trails off, and he closes his eyes for a moment, jaw tense. Jester waits patiently, her tail flicking around her, careful not to touch him, and he opens his eyes, a half-smile on his lips. It’s brittle, but earnest, and Jester clings to it like she used to cling to the gifts the Traveler would bring her. “Green,” he whispers, his voice rough around that word.

“Green?” Jester blinks, and then grins, pulling his hand close so she can kiss it. He watches her with those dark eyes, and she tightens her grip on him, her thumb still moving in circles. “Oh, _good_,” she says, and her relief must be so palpable because Caleb looks away for a moment, his movement still all jerky and stiff. She gives him a sidelong smile, widening it when he finally meets her gaze again. “How about a _kiss_?” Her voice is gentle, light on its syllables as she tries for casual. “You _can_ say no, Cayleb.” _And fuck anyone who told you that you couldn’t_, she thinks fiercely, trying not to let her rage translate too openly on her face.

“Even if it _shouldn’t_ hurt?” Caleb leans forward, his head close against hers. She feels the warmth of his breath on her cool skin, and feels her eyes get half-lidded as his face comes close, angling perfectly so their lips are _just_ on the cusp of touching each other. “And it’s green for the kiss, Lavorre.” Jester flutters shut her eyes as he ends the small distance between them, lulling her into a soft kiss. His hand is raised onto her neck, and Jester sighs lightly as he pulls back, watching her with those dark eyes.

“No such thing as _shouldn’t hurt_,” Jester says, hand reaching out to rest on the crook of his neck. “If it hurts, it _hurts_, Cayleb. I need you to tell me if it hurts, and I promise I’ll tell you if _I _feel hurt.” Her voice is assured, her smile even—she has to be sure on this, certain so that he doesn’t feel like she’s playing with him. It must be… it must be jarring, having lived his life so long in that _way_, jarring knowing there were rules that protected him that no one _told_ him about.

It’s horrible.

She hesitates for a moment, and then exhales through her teeth. “There are… there are things we don’t talk about, but this can’t be one, okay?” She watches him carefully. _Things like your dead loved ones, things like that fucking blood pact, things we _should _talk about, things we _need_ to talk about._ His eyes watch her like he knows what she’s thinking, and he grimaces. “_Deal?_”

There’s a barely hesitant pause, and then he’s blinking, kind of quickly_. _“Deal,” Caleb promises, and then closes their distance again, into another kiss. Jester makes a soft sound into his mouth, hand reaching from his neck to curl into her hair, and she feels him smile against his lips. “I promise,” he sighs, forehead braced against hers, “we’ll… we’ll talk about those things, I promise. I just… give me my time, Lavorre, and we’ll… I’ll talk about it with you. We have a deal.”

_Deal,_ she thinks giddily, as they pull apart and Caleb reaches for her other hand, resting her back onto their lap. He reaches for his spellbook again, and Jester leans against his chest as he continues to study, reaching for her own journal to draw the two of them. She grins when Caleb flushes faintly, seeing that it’s him she’s drawing. She draws his eyes dark, alluring and pretty and wonderful, and teases him when he thanks her wryly for how she accentuated his cheekbones. _That’s how they look to meeeee_, she sings, and laughs as he trails kisses down her neck.

She moans later, when he bites into her sternum. _Green? _she murmurs, hand in his hair. Her breathing is _so _uneven and she bites her lower lip, the sheets rumpled against her shifting form. This is happening, and they’re _okay_, she’s so _glad_ that they’re _okay_, they’re finally _okay_.

_Green_, Caleb promises, lowering himself down, down, _down_ until his teeth are scraping against the soft skin of her thigh. It’s freckled there too, and she can feel him trace them with his rough fingers. She knows he means it, knows he understands it, and allows another moan past her parted lips as his fingers brush against her clit. She smiles as she tosses her head, pressed up against a pillow.

She smiles as she comes, too.


End file.
